


For a Good Cause

by rivendellrose



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Charity Auctions, Established Relationship, F/M, Romance, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivendellrose/pseuds/rivendellrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the women's hospital holds a tongue-in-cheek auction of eligible ladies as a fundraiser, Phryne Fisher can't resist putting herself up on the bloc, and bringing Jack along for the ride. But no one will ever own Phryne except herself, and she always has a few tricks up her sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Good Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Teen for definite but not graphic sexual situations at the end, and for reference to sexuality, and a brief and vague discussion of Phryne's past with Rene DuBois.
> 
> Thanks to [hearts_blood](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/hearts_blood) for help figuring out historical monetary values, and a quick beta read to catch my silly typing mishaps.

"You're... you're really going to wear this, aren't you, Miss?"

Phryne looked up from toweling herself off in the bathroom to see Dot laying out the new gown that had just arrived by messenger that afternoon from the House of Fleury. It had been a special order, and not at all the kind of thing that the ladies there usually specialized in, but she trusted no one else in Australia with such delicate a piece of work. She had spent hours with both sisters, designing the gown based on items in their repertoire and on illustrations and photographs from Paris and elsewhere, and still more hours being measured for it. The fit of this sort of gown had to be positively impeccable or the effect would be ruined. Fortunately, the House of Fleury looked to have once again lived up to its marvelous reputation.

"Of course I am, Dot. I wouldn't have bought a gown like this if I didn't have every intention of wearing it at least once. Preferably twice," she added when Dot’s frown deepened just slightly at the implication that such an expensive piece of couture might wind up in the back of the closet after just a single wearing.

"But... to the fundraising gala for the women's hospital, Miss?" Dot looked down, her careful and delicate fingers brushing lightly across the beading that made up the majority of the gown's material. "Isn't it a bit... risqué, for that kind of event?"

"Well, I'm not sure Aunt Prudence will approve," Phryne agreed with a smile as she toweled her wet black hair and shook it out. "But I like it, and since I'm participating in the auction this evening I feel like wearing something particularly eye-catching. There's no point in presenting yourself on a stage if you don't want to be looked at and admired. And I do."

Dot pursed her lips. It went against her upbringing, not to mention her experience with her employer, to question Phryne's decisions. But they were more friends than they were master and servant, and Dot had become accustomed over the years to Phryne's desire that she should speak frankly, even when her opinions differed starkly with Phryne's own, just so long as she understood and expected that Phryne would be just as frank and honest with her in return. "I'm not sure I like the idea of this auction, Miss," she said at last. "It doesn't seem entirely decent, respectable women putting themselves up on a stage as if they're being auctioned off. Even if it is for a good cause."

"It's all just in fun, Dot, and just for a night’s dancing," Phryne assured her, touching her friend's shoulder with gentle concern. "I promise, I have no intention to be bought or sold, except in the spirit of a little light amusement, and to earn the women's hospital good publicity and money that it wouldn't get if we just held the usual sorts of bake sales and an auction of whatever the old women of the committee felt they could spare from their attics. You know that never goes over well. This, however," Phryne smirked, "has the advantage of being shocking, audacious, and exactly the sort of thing that the press simply can't resist. We sold twice the number of tickets that we usually do, this year, and it's all everyone's been talking about at all the society luncheons and teas and whatnot for the last month."

"Partly because you went around to all those places and talked about it, Miss," Dot reminded her with a smile.

Phryne's smile well outshone Dot's in its brilliance, but Dot's returned it twice as bright when her employer said, "Why yes, I believe I did. The best use of my time that all those tedious parties have ever been. And now, since everyone knows I'll be there and everyone knows that I like to do strange and shocking things, everyone else wants to be there, too, and that means..."

"That you have to do something strange and shocking to live up to their expectations." Dot sighed. "I suppose I understand..."

"Oh, don't sound so worried, Dot. I don't have to do it, I want to. Besides - I have a back-up plan just as I always do. Believe me, I don't intend on letting just any boring, horrid old dolt win my hand at the evening's dancing. At least not for a truly exorbitant amount of money, I don't. In which case, if I do end up with someone truly horrible, I'll just fake sick and then have Mac take a look and diagnose me with something that will give me a legitimate excuse to skip out for the rest of the evening. But that's only if they're really so awful I can't bear to spend the night dancing with them. And for the sort of money someone will be spending tonight on the new wing at the hospital, I can afford to have at least a little bit of patience."

Dot sighed and smoothed the gown in front of them. "You aren't worried this will give people the wrong idea?"

Phryne grinned and lifted the dress up to her. "Dot... if this doesn't give people ideas, then they haven't got any imagination at all. But whether they're the wrong ideas... well, that's entirely up to me, once they've had them."

* * *

When Jack Robinson arrived at the door to the Wardlow house he found Phryne already waiting, dressed in a long white fur that obscured any hint of what she might have been wearing underneath. Combined with the silver and white feathered fascinator that crowned her sleek black hair, the effect was that of a queen of winter, perhaps some kind of pagan goddess of the long, dark months. The effect was only slightly spoiled by the way she bounded down the stairs and kissed his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he would have to remember to rub off before they arrived at the gala.

"Jack! I'm so glad you came."

"I did say I would.” Jack’s tone was a gentle rebuke mingled with resignation - he’d long since given up fighting all but the wildest of Phryne’s plots.

"Yes,” Phryne acknowledged with a fond bat of her gloved hand to his shoulder, “but I couldn't be quite certain until now that you wouldn't come up with some dull excuse. You do have a habit of doing that for these big society functions, you know. Not that I blame you, most of the time. I'd normally rather stick pins in my feet than deal with a whole room full of dull people whose only interests are their pocketbooks and what society thinks of them. But in the interest of Mac getting her new wing..."

"You'll make an exception. And so will I," Jack assured her. "Besides, my lateness last time was hardly my fault. That bank robbery--"

"Could have easily been handled by a less senior policeman," Phryne scolded as she tucked her hand in his arm and allowed him to escort her down to her car, where Mr. Butler was waiting to drive them to the Windsor Hotel for their gala.

"Not with the mayor breathing down the commissioner's neck like he was," Jack told her as he handed her into the car and then took his seat beside her. "Next time, I advise anyone intending to rob a bank to choose one that the mayor himself doesn't keep his money at."

"Mmm, wise suggestion. I'll keep it in mind if I ever decide to change careers."

Jack flinched. "Please don't."

Phryne laughed. "Don't worry. I have plenty to keep me busy already."

* * * 

The gala glittered with all the best of what the _haute monde_ of St. Kilda and the surrounding areas had to offer, and Jack Robinson would normally have felt more than a little out of place in such a gathering, but as he entered the hotel with Phryne Fisher on his arm he could only think that every man in the place wished it was his arm she was leaning intimately upon, and that very few of the women were thinking anything but that they wished they could look half as chic as she did, regardless of the fact that her escort for the evening was a rather low-level police official. He nodded politely to the servant who took their tickets, and then moved to take Phryne’s coat.

“Ah - I’m afraid not.” Phryne gave him a conspiratorial grin. “I can’t stay, I have to run backstage with the other ladies who are on offer.”

“Don’t you want to leave your coat here?”

“Anything but,” she assured him, waggling her finger. “I spent a very tidy sum on this dress, and I’m not taking the slightest risk of it not being a surprise to everyone. Including you, Jack. So off you go, Mac will keep you company, I made sure you were at the same table as her. And don’t worry, Aunt Prudence is on the other side of the room entirely.”

“Ah. Well. Thank you.” Jack bowed slightly and offered a faint smile, but already he could feel his earlier rush of confidence slipping away. With Phryne Fisher on his arm he was the envy of every man in the room--and, undoubtedly, at least some of the women. Without her, he was only Detective Inspector Robinson, the son of a factory worker, who a good number of the other attendees tonight might very well still consider asking to come in through the servants’ door around back if he were to call on them at home on anything other than police business. At least he would have Mac’s company while he watched the rich and privileged throw their money around, most particularly for the pleasure of dancing with the Honourable Miss Fisher for the night. Mac was always good for a wry look, a quiet, sardonic aside, and a sympathetic whiskey. Particularly when his frustrations were something to do with Phryne. Biting back the desire to make up a police emergency, Jack bowed again and said, “Enjoy your evening, then.”

Phryne frowned and stepped close, straightening his tie in that way she had of making an excuse to touch him in public. “Don’t look so glum, Jack. Remember - it doesn’t matter who wins the auction. They only get me until we leave.” She bent so close her lips nearly touched his ear. “I’m still going home with you.”

Well. If Jack had thought the evening didn’t look uncomfortable enough, a burgeoning erection brought on by the tone of her voice and the way she leaned against him as she spoke would certainly liven things up a bit further. “I’ll... look forward to that.”

“Do,” Phryne ordered with a sharp look that told him she knew exactly what she’d done, damn her. “Oh, and Jack?”

He swallowed. What other torment did she have in mind... “Yes?”

“Here.” She pulled an envelope from somewhere in her lush white fur coat and tucked it into the inner pocket of his dress jacket.

“What’s this?”

“My contribution to the fundraiser this evening, of course,” Phryne replied, all innocence. Jack waited, knowing full well that there would be more to it than that. There was nothing more dangerous in the world than Phryne wearing an expression utterly lacking in guile. “And also a little insurance for my ego,” she added with a wicked grin when she saw that, as usual, he wasn’t buying her first story. “I want you to use that when the bidding for my hand starts to slow down. Just to keep things interesting.”

Misgivings--far from the first of the evening--began to boil in Jack’s stomach. “Phryne, are you sure that’s wise? The more someone ends up paying--”

“The more the hospital gets, and the longer it’ll be before we both have to hear Mac whine about all the things her new hospital wing is missing.”

Jack shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. Men who can throw around that kind of money get expectations in their minds, and especially paired with a good amount of alcohol the sense of entitlement can be--”

“Jack.” Phryne stopped him with a hand flat on his chest, her palm just over his heart as if she could steady its nervous patter. “Don’t worry. I know how to handle drunken, entitled men who don’t know how to take no for an answer. And besides... if someone does get a little out of hand, I have my personal policeman with me, don’t I?” She leaned forward quickly and kissed his cheek. “Now, off you go. Mac will be desperate for some sane conversation by now, and it’ll be to no one’s benefit, least of all the hospital’s, if she’s left alone too long with the board members and the philanthropists. She might get honest. I’ll see you later.”

Of course, there were other women than Phryne for Jack to be worried about in regards to drunken men who believed money could buy anything, including silence, but he had planned ahead for that. The ladies putting themselves up for tongue-in-cheek auction would have not only Phryne Fisher's not inconsiderable protection, nor Jack's own, but several well-placed members of the local constabulary, dressed in plainclothes and stationed at strategic points throughout the crowded banquet hall and the hotel's lobby and hallways. They were ready, in case some over-moneyed bastard decided to take the night's entertainment a little too seriously for the comfort of some lady.

Most of the evening, though, was just waiting. Musical numbers and dance routines and the like had been set up between the events of the auction, to keep attentions piqued, though none were particularly impressive to Jack's keyed-up mind, and the master of ceremonies clearly fancied himself more of a comedian than he truly was, though the people around Jack seemed to find him amusing enough. Perhaps, Jack allowed as the auction wore toward an end with still not a sight of Phryne, I'm not giving him quite the chance he deserves. I'm sure that's what Miss Fisher would say if she were here...

The thought of Phryne laughing at the man's jokes only sharpened the pang in Jack's stomach, though - and a keen worry for what other mischief she might be plotting that evening that was far more dangerous than mere laughter. Jack had known her long and well enough to recognize the look of Phryne with a plan, and he had certainly seen it earlier that evening as they parted. She had something up her sleeve, and whatever it was, it was bound to be trouble for him, if not for everyone else around them.

As it turned out, though, he didn't have to wait too much longer to find out what, exactly, Phryne had been plotting.

"Our last generous benefactress for the evening," the announcer intoned, continuing from some undoubtedly amusing remark that Jack had been too caught up in his reverie to register, "the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher!"

Phryne stalked onstage as the man continued his inane patter, still wearing her gorgeous white fur... which, once she was sure of having the audience's complete attention, she dropped from her shoulders as casually as another woman might drop a handkerchief. The luxurious coat slid down her body and pooled at her feet, revealing a gown that was barely a gown at all, by any standards common in decent society. Even Jack, who even before their relationship took on a more openly amorous character had seen Phryne in little more than a pair of spangled knickers and a smile, felt his heart race at her audacity. Composed primarily of stocking-fine netting and beadwork in the shape of two silver wings that covered her small breasts and extended down to form a skirt, the gown left very little to the imagination, and gave Phryne the appearance of the winged goddess of triumph worshiped by the ancient Greeks, arrived in the modern day to lord her victory over modern man as well.

 _She's going to bring the whole hotel down. And single-handedly fund that damned new hospital wing_ , Jack thought as he looked around to see even men who had already 'won' the hand of an eligible young lady now checking their bankbooks to see if they could stand to donate a bit more for a very good cause. He glanced at Mac, and was somewhat relieved to see that her much-vaunted calm looked a bit shaken. She gave a short bark of laughter, knocked back a deep draft of her whiskey, and shook her head.

"You knew?" Jack asked, leaning over so the next table wouldn't hear them.

"About that? I wouldn't have let her volunteer if I'd known she was going to take it that far," Mac assured him.

"You could have stopped her?"

Mac considered this, then snorted and took another drink. "Well, I would have made it harder for her, at least. Or died trying. If she keeps on this way, she's liable to start a riot."

That wasn't nearly as much of an exaggeration as Jack would have liked. Phryne, on stage, was playing up every ounce of her considerable charm, flirting with the host and the audience at the same time. She answered the fellow's inane questions about herself with her usual wit, but Jack wasn't paying attention to what she said. He was watching the audience, trying to gauge which of the men out there would have the good fortune - and deep pockets - to outbid all the rest and win her companionship for the evening... and, in a dark and resentful part of his mind that he kept trying to hush, how likely it was, if that man turned out to be charming and handsome, that Phryne might forget her earlier assurance that she'd be going home with Jack. As much as they were learning, in their ways, to trust each other with the strange and fluid lines of the relationship they'd built between them, Jack knew that Phryne's ability to resist temptation only stretched so far, and there were several annoyingly attractive and very well-off looking gentlemen eyeing her with speculative and enticing gazes, which Phryne returned with frank and teasing smiles and posturing.

"You weren't joking about having plainclothes policemen in the audience, were you?" Mac asked in a too-casual tone.

"No."

She raised her glass to him in a toast, then tossed it back. "Good."

The bidding, to precisely no one's surprise, escalated very quickly once it had begun, and it was only when the asking of an evening's dancing and conversation with Phryne Fisher had rather speedily surpassed the amount Jack made in a month that he remembered the envelope Phryne had tucked into his pocket. Well, the auction hardly needed her help to stay lively, but he ought at least to check and see if the battle had already surpassed the funds she'd given him, Jack thought. It had, after all, been rather too thin to be stuffed with all that much cash. He took the envelope out and opened it.

And instantly felt dizzy.

He must have looked it, too, because Mac immediately turned her attention from watching her friend vamp about on stage to looking at him with an expression of serious professional concern. "What's wrong?"

"I... There must have been a mistake," Jack muttered vaguely, his head feeling light. "Phryne gave me this before she went backstage. She said I should use it when the bidding slowed down. To keep things interesting."

Mac leaned over and peered into the envelope that Jack held in his numb fingers, and let out a low whistle. "Well, that'll keep things interesting all right. Are you sure she's not tired of you and setting you up to have your skull beaten in by those poor sods who are trying to get her?"

"She... she can't have meant... That banker's note has to be enough to fund half the hospital wing all by itself!"

"I wouldn't go quite that far, but it’s certainly enough that I’m not worried about not getting enough money tonight to break ground next year. Phryne's too generous by half, but I'm not going to turn it down." Mac sat back in her chair and summoned a waiter to bring them two more whiskeys. "And you had better not, either, Inspector," she added with a stern look. "She's counting on you, and it takes a lot for Phryne Fisher to do that."

Of course. It made perfect sense, now that Jack thought of it. Only Phryne Fisher would sign herself up as the ultimate prize in a charity auction, and then make sure that the winning bid was made with her own money. And she'd put that money into his hands. "She expects me to win," he said quietly.

Mac snorted. "With a cheque that big, I certainly hope you win. I suppose I should hope you don't, though. Anybody who out-pays that bid really will be buying half the wing all by themselves."

Phryne hadn’t been worried about anything at all apart from that Jack be present at the auction, and at the time Jack had misunderstood that focus. He’d thought she wanted to show off, and perhaps even enjoy his squirming as he watched some other man ‘win’ her hand for the evening. It wasn’t a cruel impulse in her, but he knew she enjoyed being the center of so much desire, and he had seen - and experienced - how her ardor could be piqued by a little bit of jealousy, provided it didn’t rise to the level of an actual fight. But this... this was different. No man owned Phryne Fisher, no man could buy her. Her price was always too high - only she herself could afford it, and to even pretend otherwise was nothing short of a farce. But she’d put the money in his hands.

The bidding slowed down, but became more emphatic. Three men remained, and shouted their bids more at each other than at the auctioneer. The rest gathered hats and gloves and other accoutrements from around their seat and waited with varying levels of politeness for the bidding to come to an end. The bids edged up slowly but surely, by now already approaching what Jack made in a year as a detective inspector. Five hundred pounds, five hundred and fifty, six hundred, six-fifty...

“If you’re going to jump in--” Mac began.

“Not yet,” Jack told her. “I don’t want to lay it down too soon.”

“But--”

“She said when the bidding slowed down.” Jack glanced at Mac. “Besides, you don’t want me to break it, do you? She meant to give you the whole cheque.”

“...Fair point. But they do keep hesitating.”

“They do. But then they keep upping the bid.”

It was true. The three gentlemen went in turns, each raising their bid every time it was their moment, until the bid passed seven hundred. At that point the third gentleman shook his head and bowed out, but the other two remained. Jack couldn’t help thinking of how much seven hundred pounds could buy in the world of a working man. But it was Phryne’s money, and she would do with it what she liked, as she did everything else in life, and she’d entrusted it to him for a particular purpose. She wouldn’t thank him for saving so much as a shilling of it. 

So he waited. He waited as the pauses between the two remaining bidders dragged out, and as the amount they topped each other crawled down to ten, and then only five pounds at each go-around. At last, one of them hesitated longer than before, and then hung his head and shook it, and the other looked triumphant.

“Eight-hundred and seventy pounds going once,” the auctioneer intoned. “Going twice--”

Jack raised a hand and said in a loud, clear voice, “One thousand.”

The auctioneer started and stared. “One... thousand?” 

Jack straightened under the gaze of every person in the room, but the gaze he felt most heavily, watching him from the stage with a victorious smile and eyes that glowed with real appreciation, was Phryne’s own. “One thousand, yes.”

“Of course, Mr...?”

“Robinson. Jack Robinson.”

The auctioneer gave a small nod, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary at all about this, though his eyes said otherwise. Jack’s name had been in the society papers alongside Phryne’s for some months, now, of course, and in consequence of that most of the people there knew him. And knew, as well, that he was a policeman, and therefore not the sort of man who should have a thousand pounds to throw around, not even for a woman with whom he was consistently linked in all manner of amorous rumors. At a table not too far away, Jack could see Prudence Stanley talking with her tablemates, an affronted look on her face. Well, that was no great surprise. Happy as she was at the idea that her niece might finally be settling down, she couldn’t possibly be thrilled that it was with a common policeman, and lord only knew what she would think of the money.

Blessedly, the man didn’t make him show the money. He only nodded slowly, and said “One thousand pounds for the hand of the lovely Miss Phryne Fisher for the evening, gentlemen. One thousand pounds. Do I hear one thousand and ten?”

The two men who had been bidding before, and the third who’d backed out some time ago, shot Jack baleful looks. He had a feeling several other men in the audience were doing the same, whether or not they’d ever been in the running. 

“Going once, going twice...” 

The moment seemed to drag out for eternity, as Jack got caught in the gleam of excitement in Phryne’s eyes.

“Sold,” the auctioneer announced, “to Mr. Jack Robinson. Gentlemen, the women’s hospital thanks you for your generosity, and I’m sure all our lovely ladies will thank you as well. The dance music will begin in just a moment.”

Under the cover of the rising din from the tables around them, Jack turned to Mac and said, in a voice equal parts tired and stunned, "I just spent almost twice what I make in a year."

"Phryne has that effect on people," Mac agreed with a fraternal pat to his shoulder. "If it makes you feel any better, technically she spent it. And that's close to a normal Friday night for her."

Jack shuddered. "I know…"

"Terrifying, isn't it? Ah, speak of the devil… I'll just go and… talk to someone else."

Jack followed Mac's gaze as she stood up and found Phryne Fisher. Rather more of her than he usually found in public. She'd left her fur somewhere, and though the glitter of her beaded gown had subsided somewhat outside of the spotlight, it was still just as minimal as it had looked on stage. He found his eyes wandering in a way that wasn't entirely appropriate for their current location, lifted them up by sheer force of will, and was struck all over again by the depth and heat of her eyes. "You… certainly made the hospital fund very happy." 

"Mmm." Phryne's lips parted in a slow, predatory smile. "Only the fund?"

"There are certainly a number of very unhappy gentlemen out there."

"And one happy winner. At least I hope he's happy." Her eyes promised that if he wasn't yet, he would be later.

Jack took a shuddering breath. There were so many things he _could_ say at that moment, so many thoughts rushing through his head, things he'd wanted to say to her during the auction, things he wished she'd told him before she went backstage... But all of them seemed rather pointless with Phryne standing right in front of him, watching and waiting with unspoken promises on her lips and wicked plans in her eyes. The band struck up the first song of the night as if she commanded them, too, and Jack held out his arm. "Shall we dance?"

* * * 

They danced every dance, and while Jack certainly heard the muttered comments around them about 'getting his money's worth,' he also saw the way Phryne smiled at them, and knew she intended to get her money's worth, too. So when strains of the last song - a waltz, of course – drew down to silence and Phryne leaned close to murmur, "Let's go home," directly in his ear, Jack stood tall against the inevitable flutters of gossip and led Phryne off the dance floor. She said a quick goodbye to Mac, neatly avoided her aunt and a number of other elderly society ladies who clearly wanted a word with her, retrieved her fur, and slipped out into the night where Mr. Butler, perfectly attuned as always to his employer's needs, waited with the car.

"A pleasant evening, Miss?" 

"Very." She settled into the car, fluffing her fur around her, and cast a look at Jack that went through the heart of him like an arrow. She continued on in the most blithely innocent of tones, however, "And I fully expect it will be even more pleasant once we're home, Mr. B." 

"A long evening in public can be like that, Miss," Mr. Butler agreed amiably as he pulled the car out into the darkened streets and pointed it back toward Wardlow House. "Shall I draw you a hot bath to go with your nightcap, when we arrive?" 

"Not tonight, I think." 

"Very good, Miss."

The rest of the drive passed in silence, and Mr. Butler's eternal discretion allowed his eyes to slide easily over his employer as she settled herself against Jack with a contented sigh. Jack stroked the powdery smoothness of her upper arm, breathed in French perfume, and let his eyes fall closed for a while.

Back at Wardlow he accompanied Phryne up the stairs and accepted the drinks Mr. Butler brought to them while Phryne untied the ribbons that circled up her ankles to steady high heeled sandal shoes of glimmering silver gilt, then padded over to him on bare feet to accept her glass.

"Well, Mr. Robinson," she said in a low, breathy tone that set the hair on the back of his neck to rise. "Here we are. You've bought and paid for me. What would you like to do with me now?"

Jack took a cautious sip of his whiskey to buy time as his mind raced. This, of all the games they'd toyed with or considered over their time together, was one he had not expected Phryne to be at all interested in. "Is that what happened?" 

"I distinctly recall seeing you hand over rather an impressive amount of cash for me, yes." She took the rest of her drink in a slow sip, watching him over the rim of the glass, then set it aside. "So… what's your pleasure, then? Another dance… or I could draw you a hot bath and massage you with oils… or maybe you'd like to just _watch_ me dance. Whatever you like, since you're the lord of the evening."

"Phryne. Are you sure—"

She rolled her bright green eyes. "Oh, let it be, Jack. We both know it's only a game."

"Because the money was yours."

"No, because I trust you." She draped her arms around his neck and angled her body against his in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. "The money was mine, it's true, but that’s not the most important point here. The really relevant fact here is that, unlike some men, you _know_ this is only for play. That you don't own me, no matter how much money you might have paid for my company. And that…" she stood on her toes to kiss just beneath his ear before continuing, "is what makes it safe to pretend for the night that you do."

"It doesn't remind you…" Jack trailed off. He hated to mention Rene Dubois, particularly in the context of the bedroom, but at this moment he felt as if the man's shadow darkened the whole room. 

"Not at all," she assured him, smoothing her hands down his chest and beginning making quick work along the way of the buttons that closed his black dress jacket. "If it did, I wouldn't have raised the idea. I promise. So relax… and do with me whatever you want."

Jack had seen just enough films of this sort to recognize the game being played, but not nearly enough give him a script to work from, and, for once, he found that Shakespeare didn't provide a suitable line to follow. Still, she wanted him to give orders. "That dress is lovely… but you're still wearing too much." 

Phryne bowed her head in mock modesty, took a few steps away, and, with aching slowness, undid the hooks and eyes in the back of the gown and let it slither and shimmer off her body inch by inch. She wore nothing underneath but a garter belt and her stockings. How much else could she really have worn under a dress that revealing? And yet…

"You planned this."

"What else would you expect to happen?" Phryne asked with a mischievous gleam. "You beat out all those men, all those _rich_ , powerful men, for a prize they wanted. But it wasn't for them. It was for you."

"Come here, then." His voice caught, rough and low, in his throat, but Phryne didn't say a thing – she came to his hand as obediently as a bird, though her eyes dared him just as much as they always did. With a practiced gesture he unhooked the garter belt and slid it carefully down her hips, down her thighs, down delicate ankles and small white feet, and kissed the soft rouge on her knees before standing again.

"And now?" 

Jack cupped the back of her head in one hand, the other taking hold of the shallow curve of her hip as he leaned in to kiss her. She molded herself against him, disregarding for the moment that he was still mostly dressed, his tuxedo jacket hanging open and everything else still neatly buttoned and proper. "Come to bed," he murmured, when they parted for breath a long moment later.

Phryne broke into a wicked grin. "I thought you'd never ask."

**Author's Note:**

> For those who might be curious, the gown in this fic was inspired by the pictures eventually recovered on [this Tumblr post.](http://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com/post/127885250112/for-a-good-cause-rivendellrose-miss-fishers)


End file.
